


Promise Not To Promise

by Ivegotaheadlineforyou



Series: Blood & Promises [2]
Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief, Mentions of Suicide, Mourning, Orpheus has to deal with the consequences of his actions, Semi-Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 16:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19794952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivegotaheadlineforyou/pseuds/Ivegotaheadlineforyou
Summary: “You’re allowed to grieve her, Orpheus. You’re allowed to cry and scream because you miss her. But her death does not equal your own. You have to get up and keep living.”***Orpheus is all alone up top. He's got a long time to wait.





	Promise Not To Promise

**Author's Note:**

> Part two is here.  
> Note: Mentions of suicide and alcohol being used as a coping mechanism
> 
> Also, thank you jo for allowing me to use your headcanon and your words for this fic. You're the kindest and smartest, and i love you dearly.
> 
> More notes at the end.
> 
> Hadestown belongs to Anaïs Mitchell, gods bless her soul.

_Glide away on soapy heels_

_And promise not to promise anymore_

_And if you come around again_

_Then I will take,_

_Then I will take the chain from off the door_

\- Ingrid Michaelson, _The Chain_

He might as well have been made of marble.

He was still. He was unmoving.

But his heart still beating, and that was the hardest part of all of it.

“She’s going to ask about you,” Persephone said, sitting across from him. He looked up briefly to look at her, before turning his gaze away. 

“No she won’t,” he whispered, his eyes trained on the railroad tracks that he knew would take her away again. 

Persephone scoffed at him, and brushed her hair behind her shoulders. “She will, and if you think she won’t, you’re delusional.”

He shook his head, still not meeting her eyes. “She won’t. Why would she? After everything I did—”

“Don’t say another word.” She spoke with a force to her voice. With a power that Orpheus had never heard her use. He looked over at her, and she was pinching the bridge of her nose. He didn’t notice before but she looked tired.

“I don’t have time for this conversation right now. I _don’t_. I leave tomorrow, and I don’t know what i’m going to find down there,” she looked at him, and used everything she had to convince him of the magnitude of what she was saying. “I don’t know who she’s gonna be. I can’t tell you what will have happened to her. But I can promise you that when she finds out that you’ve barely moved from this spot,” she said, pressing her hand solidly to the ground. “When she find out that you’ve all but stopped eating. That you haven’t sang in _six months_? What do you think she’s gonna think?”

Orpheus was at a loss for words. Persephone watched as the emptiness in his eyes was slowly replaced with fear. It was replaced with a pain she knew he hadn’t let himself feel. When he opened his mouth to respond, nothing came out at first. “Why would she care?” he asked, his voice small and meek. “Why would she care about what happens to me?”

“Because she _loves_ you, you stubborn poet,” Persephone all but shouted at him, exasperated. “Orpheus, she loves you. If the situation were reversed, would you have blamed her?”

His eyes went wide at the thought. “No, of course not—”

“Then why do you think she’s gonna blame you?” Persephone looked at him with a stern look on her face, and let them sit in silence. After a moment, she stood up, brushed the dirt off of her dress and looked at him. 

“So what’s it gonna be, Orpheus? When I get down there, and when your girl come running, asking me for answers, for updates, what am I gonna tell her?”

When no answer came, she sighed. She was being hard on him, she knew it. She was being a little too aggressive maybe, but this first trip back would be the most important. It would set the tone for the next however many years they would be in this arrangement. 

“What am I going to say, Orpheus?” Persephone dropped her shoulders, dropped the pretence, dropped the volume of her voice. “I won’t lie to her, so what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know.”

When he looked up at her, his eyes were filled with tears and the pain of someone who was grieving. She nodded at him, and tried to say without words that okay, she believed him. 

“Will you see me off tomorrow?” She asked. He didn’t respond but she knew he wouldn’t. It was a lot to ask of him, but she asked nonetheless. She nodded at him, at the way he shifted his eyes back to the tracks, before turning and leaving. 

When Hemes was walking Persephone to the train the next afternoon, the poet came running towards them. It shocked both the gods to see him up and moving, especially at the speed that he was moving at. 

“Persephone,” he said, breathless as he caught up to them. He swayed a bit on his feet as he pulled an envelope out of his back pocket. He hadn’t been eating. His face looked gaunt.

“I know that this probably isn’t allowed, and I-I-I don’t want to get you in trouble. And it might not even be a-a good idea—” he had said more words in this one breath than he had all summer. Hermes looked at Persephone out of the corner of his eye, and she looked right back at him, as the poet spoke.

“Orpheus,” Persephone said, her voice soft, and a smile on her face. She took the letter from his hand, and slid it into her bag. He sighed and nodded, thanking her with his eyes. They were red and puffy, and she could tell that whatever he had put in that letter had taken all his energy.

Seph reached up and cupped his cheek softly. “Will you please eat something, boy? I want you to be around long enough to see another spring.” He closed his eyes and nodded. 

She smiled sadly at him, and dropped her hand. “I’ll see you soon, Orpheus.” With that, Hermes and Seph continued to walk to the train station, her bag in his hand, and their arms looped together.

“You gonna take care of him?” She asked when Orpheus was out of earshot, and was answered by a scoff from Hermes.

“Course I will. Been watching over that boy his whole life, Seph. It ain’t gonna stop now,” he said, nudging his shoulder against hers. “You gonna take care of her?”

She nodded. “I got no idea what’s waiting for me down there, Hermes. but I’ll try” she shook her head, thinking of her first trip back to Hadestown. The factory, her husband, the girl — she had no inkling of what the underworld would hold for her.

* * *

Persephone had arrived and with her, spring. The quiet movement of the world being reborn shifted slowly into the livid heat of summer. The growth, the changing nature of autumn came after, and she left them all to go back down. And then winter, with it’s howling winds and blowing snow, took its place.

Persephone’s departure forced Orpheus back indoors — the one place he had been avoiding. No one had touched the small cottage that at one point housed the Lovers. This meant that, walking into the cottage, and out of the first snowstorm of the year, he was confronted by visions of her.

Her backpack with the bottom ripped out. Her silver flask, tarnished with time. The white t-shirt that he knew belonged to him, but that she liked to wear. Two dirty mugs on the table. The yellow bandana she was wearing when they met. 

As he looked around the space, he remembered the summer they shared. It was as though he was looking through time. He could see the way she would make tea for them in the morning. He could see her curled up on their ratty couch, her knees pulled up to her chest. He could almost see himself playing the lyre for her, while she watched with a soft smile on her face.

_No._

He didn’t want this. He didn’t want these memories that did nothing but slice open his heart in cruel jagged lines. He needed out of the house, away from the things that shone so brightly with memories of her. He couldn’t look at a snapshot of the life he had torn away from them. He grabbed the flask that he knew was probably still full, and left, slamming the door behind him.

He took a swig of whatever moonshine had been left in that flask for well over a year, and winced at the taste. He coughed at the burn in his throat. He was never a drinker, but he needed warmth. So he drank. He took big sips, and soon enough he felt a warmth in his gut, and a cloudiness in his mind. 

Orpheus had drank before, had had sips during toasts, but nothing more. But as he walked through the snow, his feet soaking wet, and his arms shivering, he drank down as much of the amber liquid as he could. 

This was her flask, he thought, pressing his lips to the place where hers once touched, desperate for anything nearing the feeling of her. This was _hers,_ he thought, chasing the taste of his love that was already long gone. This was hers, and now she was gone. And it was his fault.

As he walked, his eyes trained on the ground in front of him, he brought himself to the spot where he couldn’t seem to leave. He dropped to his knees in the snow, and started digging through it until he could place his hands flat on the ground. 

“Come and get me, Hades,” Orpheus said, tears streaming down his cheeks, desperation in his voice. “Take me away,” he whispered, his cracked voice falling on deaf ears. He stayed kneeling, his hands pressed to the floor for a long while. Tears were frozen on his cheeks as the wind whipped around him. He was losing strength, and fast. 

He took a deep breath, and his arms buckled beneath him. He collapsed on the ground, his cheek landing on the place where his fingers lay only moments before. He reached out and pulled Eurydice’s flask to his chest. He let his eyes drift shut, allowed the cold embrace of wintertime to envelop him. As his mind wandered, he could see Eurydice on the back of his eyelids. Could see her ripped coat, and the soft feather in her hair. Could see her brilliant smile, directed at him.

“Wait for me, ‘Rydice,” he slurred, his eyelids so heavy. “I’m coming…”

* * *

Orpheus woke up in a strange bed. His hands were wrapped in cloth, and he felt suffocated by the amount of blankets that were placed on him. His eyes still felt so heavy, but he forced them open. _This wasn’t Hadestown_ , he thought. _This isn’t the train_. When he tried to push himself up, his arms gave out, his body still so weak.

“What were you thinking, boy?” Orpheus looked across the room to see Hermes sat at his desk with glasses on. He wasn’t even looking at Orpheus, his focus on the letters in front of him. Orpheus didn’t know how to respond, his eyes darting around the room. Hermes looked up and took off his glasses. 

“You wanna tell me why Afra and Tim found you out by the tracks, half frozen and close to death?” Hermes voice was balanced between acidic and comforting. Orpheus could feel the disappointment, the anger, the fear radiating off of the god, and he couldn’t handle it.

“They should have left me there,” he whispered, lying back down and curling in on himself. Hermes scoffed, allowing himself one deep, frustrated laugh. “Orpheus, she wouldn’t want this for you.”

Orpheus didn’t respond. Not then, and not in response to anything Hermes said. Orpheus curled in on himself, lying awake until sleep claimed him, and only until the nightmares became too hard to handle. He rarely moved from the bed in Hermes apartment, barely ate, and only drank when Hermes practically demanded it of him. He kept Eurydice’s flask in his hands, pressed to his chest, trying desperately to remember what it felt like to feel her heart beat against his.

When Persephone arrived in the spring, Hermes met her at the train station. And he could see in her eyes when she stepped off that things were going just as poorly down below as they were up above. She nodded to him, and he nodded to her, and silently they walked to the bar.

“She’s a different person, Hermes,” Seph said, a glass of lemonade in front of her. She had given up the drink, and Hermes was glad to see that she had stuck to it. “No one can get close to her. No one can talk to her. She’s _angry_ and _sad_ , and she’s got this emptiness behind her eyes, and she keeps getting more and more reckless… I… I don’t know how long she’s gonna make it before she does something stupid.”

“What did you tell her about the Poet?” Hermes asked, leaning back in his chair. She shrugged and responded. “The truth? That he wasn’t doing well, but that he was trying. She saw right through it, though. Smart girl, if nothin else.”

There was a heavy silence between them for a moment, before she broke it. “How is he?” Hermes dropped his chin to his chest and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“About a week after you left, we found him by the tracks,” he sighed, and could hear Persephone gasp. He nodded and continued: “We got him back to mine, and he’s… he’s alright now. But this?” He said, referring to her news about Eurydice. 

She nodded and finished his thought. “This will break him apart.”

Another pause. The silence was slowly suffocating them.

“You know what we have to do,” he said, cutting through the tension. She nodded and bit her lip.

“I hate that you’re right.”

“He’ll be in Hadestown by June if we’re not careful. He can’t handle this, Seph. He’ll break.”

She finished her drink, wished for half a thought that it had a bit more bite to it, before standing up and grabbing her bag. “Well,” she sighed. “No reason to delay the inevitable.”

Hades pushed the door open, and Persephone could see the shell of the poet. It took everything in her to steel herself, to put on a front. She couldn’t react to the fact that she could see sharp bones pressing against his skin. His hair was lifeless, hanging in his eyes. “Orpheus?” Hermes called out and he turned his head to look at the door. When he locked eyes with Persephone, it looked like lightning had struck him.

“Is she okay,” he said, tripping on his words. He tried to throw the blanket off of him and stand up, but Persephone quickly crossed the room to him, before he could fall over. “Persephone, please, how is she?”

She smiled at him, softly. Sadly. “She’s alright, Poet,” she said, brushing his hair back, and running her fingers over the slight scar on his cheek — a souvenir from his trip to Hadestown. He let out a breath, and his knees knocked together.

“She is? She’s okay?”

“Yeah, Poet. She misses you, but she’s doin alright. Now sit before you hurt yourself.”

The relief was visible in Orpheus. His shoulders loosened, his chest expanded as he took a deep breath. He looked like he was breathing for the first time in almost a year. He let Persephone help him lean back in bed, his vision slightly blurry.

“She’s okay?” he asked again, his voice small and tired. She saw his eyes watering, his bottom lip quivering, and she took his hand in hers. She could feel soft tears pricking at the back of her eyes, but she blinked them away and plastered a smile on her face. He couldn’t know, she thought to herself. She could never let him find out.

“She misses you something fierce,” Persephone said, squeezing his hand. “You picked a fighter, Orpheus. She’s fightin’ down there, but she’s doin as well as she can. She’s safe, I promise. I’m lookin’ out for her. But,” she said, trying to pull back, “she’s gonna give me absolute hell when she finds out what state you’re in up top.”

Hermes brought the boy soup, praying that he’d eat instead of turning it away. But the more Persephone spoke about Eurydice, the more white lies she told, the calmer Orpheus became, and the more he ate. Their decision struck him in the heart, but he knew it was the right choice they had made. 

He asked quiet questions about the walk, about if she blamed him, and about who was watching over her while Persephone brought the springtime back, and she answered them with little lies in a gentle voice. 

Hermes watched from the door as the goddess of Spring and the Queen of the Underworld comforted the heart broken Poet. And he prayed to all his brothers and sisters up above, that Orpheus would never discover the truth.

* * *

Every year it got a little easier to manage. Every year it became less painful for Orpheus to say her name, for him to live in their cottage. For him to be just Orpheus, on his own without the additional “and Eurydice”. 

He talked to her sometimes — he’d speak to her while he was lying in bed, his hand pressing to the spot where she used to sleep. He’d narrate his morning routine, as if she were just in another room. He played music, and pretended that she was only in the kitchen cleaning up.

He wrote her letters every year. He sometimes practiced what he would write in them, and say them out loud. If she was reading them, he wanted to make them perfect. He thought all year of new things to tell her, new ideas he could cram onto that single sheet of paper that Lady Persephone took down to her. It was his one chance every year to remind her that he was still there, that she was too. That he was keeping her memory alive in his mind at any cost. That he loved her with every fibre of his being, and he was only biding his time until he could go and get her. 

But it was still hard living in that home without her. It was hard creeping around the small space, having to step over the things that she had left behind, and not be constantly bombarded with images of what could have been. 

But the easier it became to say her name, the longer the days got. The slower time passed. The longer the days were, dragging on and making him wait even longer until they were reunited.

“How you doing, Poet?” Hermes had asked him one night as he sat at the bar with him. Spring was just around the corner, and there was a bit of hesitant joy in the air. People were ready to see

“I’m tired, Mister Hermes,” the Poet sighed, leaning his elbows on the table. Hermes nodded and sipped his drink. He could see exhaustion in the Poet’s face — could see the bags under his eyes and all the baggage he carried with him.

“I…” Orpheus started, but couldn’t keep going. He groaned and pressed the heel of his hands against his eyes. “I can’t keep living for the springtime, Mister Hermes. I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

Hermes face scrunched up in confusion. He didn’t understand what the Poet was saying, couldn’t imagine that after all this time, he would give up. “Go on,” he said, half worried about what his elaboration might entail.

“Twenty one years, Hermes,” Orpheus said, not meeting his eyes. “I have been living for the Springtime for twenty one years. Just waiting for some news of her — anything that the Lady can bring. I’ve sent twenty one letters down below, and …”

“Are you saying you’re ready to move on?”

Orpheus looked like he had been punched in the chest. The hurt on his face at Hermes’ assumption was visible and he lost his words for a moment. Move on? Orpheus had never, at any point in the 23 years of waiting, even considered moving on. Eurydice was waiting for him, that he knew for sure. He could feel it in his bones that when he eventually made his way Underground, she would be there. His wife was waiting for him, whether he deserved it or not. But she was waiting, and gods dammit he was going to show up for her this time. He would wait and keep doubt at bay, like he couldn’t do before. He would prove himself worthy of her.

“I can’t move on, Hermes. I never wanted to leave her in the first place. But I… I have to stop counting down the days,” Orpheus’ eyes welled up with tears, and his words came spilling out of him. “I can’t keep counting down the days until I get to see her again, because I don’t know when that is. I miss her, every moment of every day, and there is _nothing_ I wouldn’t do for her. But I…”

“Orpheus,” Hermes said, cutting him off. The Poet looked up at him with conflicted eyes — terrified that what he was saying was awful, but also relieved because he knew it was the right thing. “Orpheus, you’ve never properly grieved her.”

He bit his lip and nodded at the God, tears spilling out of his eyes. “She’s not just gone, Orpheus. She’s not only out of sight. She’s dead. Eurydice died, and you tried everything you could to bring her back, but that doesn’t negate the fact that she _died._ ” 

Orpheus took in a shaky breath, clenching his jaw and squeezing his eyes shut. Orpheus thought he was done with heartbreak, thought he was done with the feeling of his heart shattering in his chest, glass puncturing his lungs. He thought that the dull ache of liminality was his new normal, the pain of waiting for an undetermined amount of time. But no, it seemed like Orpheus was destined for more in this life of his.

Hermes reached out and grabbed his hand. “You’re allowed to grieve her, Orpheus. You’re allowed to cry and scream because you miss her. But her death does not equal your own. You _have_ to get up and keep living.”

Orpheus nodded. He knew that Hermes was right, no matter how sharp his words were, no matter how deep they cut. Orpheus had kept this small flame of hope alive inside of him that maybe she would come back. That maybe one day, Eurydice would step off the train instead of Persephone, and they would be given a second chance. But he knew now that that wouldn’t be the case. 

“You gotta stop writing her letters, boy,” Hermes urged. He knew how hard that would be for the boy, and also how hard it would be on the girl below, but he needed to stop living in this fantasy. “You gotta close the door on that, because you’re not gonna make it if you keep it up.”

Persephone arrived a few days later. Orpheus met her at the train, and with a smile on his face, and tears in his eyes, he asked her how his wife was doing. He craved for Persephone to tell him every detail about her, tell him how she spent her days, and who saw was with, who was watching over her, but he knew should wouldn’t tell him.

“She’s alright,” she said, cupping his cheek for a second, giving him as much information as she logistically could. “She misses you, but gettin by.” Persephone didn’t know at that point that Orpheus would send his final letter down that year. She didn’t know that Orpheus had started mentally thinking of himself as a widower. She didn’t know that this first step of his, this first step towards grieving her proper, would break the heart of the girl down below.

***

“Is that him?” Orpheus heard a small voice behind him, and when he turned he could see Jessie being tugged forward by her five year old. “Is that the boy who brought back springtime? Like in my bedtime stories?”

“Yes, but leave him be. That was a long time ago,” she said, half smiling at Orpheus. _Kids — whatcha gonna do?,_ her glance seemed to impart.

“But where is his wife?” Orpheus could feel his heart skipping a beat. He was a bedtime story. Himself and Eurydice and Orpheus’ failed rescue attempt.

“Baby, shush,” Jessie said, placing her hands on the little girl’s shoulders. “Orpheus i’m sorry, she didn’t—“ Orpheus brushed it away, and knelt down to be at the same level as the young girl.

“She’s not here anymore. She died. But sometimes I think she’s still watching over me,” Orpheus said, a smile on his face.

“Do you still love her?” Orpheus nodded. There were still no words to explain how much he loved his wife.

“When did she go away?”

“A while ago.” _Thirty six years this fall_ , he thought to himself. He held out his hand to the young girl, showing off the ring he had made for himself. After that first winter, hearing that Eurydice was safe, and worried about him, he worked to get his act together. He started waking up everyday, trying hard to keep food down. He was a zombie for a while, but he was living at least. He kept her flask in his front pocket at all times — a reminder of who he had lost, and of how close he had come to joining her that day by the tracks. When he finally understood that she had died, that she wasn’t coming back, he decided to leave that memory behind, and create a new one. He took the flask into town, had his finger sized, and made a ring for himself. It wasn’t the glittering gold he had once promised, but it was almost better. It was Eurydice’s last gift to him — a wedding ring for the widower.

“This was hers,” he said. Sure, it was at one point part of her flask, but the kid didn’t need to know that. She reached out and ran her little fingers over the ring. “I wear it to keep her close to me.”

“What was her name? I always ask, but Mama won’t tell me, says it hurts too much,” The girl asked, her eyes wide and bright.

“Eurydice,” Orpheus responded, the name drenched in sweet honey and longing. How he wished he could hold her again, just for one hour more.

The girl gasped, a little smile on her face. “That’s so pretty,” she whispered to him. _Your name is like a melody_ , he thought, remembering his own reaction to her name. “Did she sing pretty songs like you?” Orpheus shifted his lyre as he sat down on the ground, cross-legged. He could hear his knees pop, his joints no longer as limber as they once were. His hands were so stiff some days that he couldn’t play, but today wasn’t one of those days. He plucked a few notes, shaking his head. 

“She was a beautiful singer, but she didn’t like singin’ in front of people. She said that I had enough words for the both of us.” The girl laughed, sitting down across from him. “She sang for me sometimes, though,” he said, adjusting his hands on the strings. “I wrote her a song once. I told her that i would write her a song so beautiful that it would change the world. She never got to sing it, but I can teach it to you, if you’d like.”

She nodded, and he played. It took him four years before he was able to even think about picking up his lyre again. It sat in the corner gathering dust, the strings slackening and losing its tune as Orpheus avoided it and everything he had ever played on it. It took eleven years to be able to sing their song again, to be able to force out the lyrics about Hades and Persephone, that so startlingly matched his own love story — a boy who lost focus, a girl who lost faith. A man hellbent on giving her everything, a woman who only wanted him. A moment of recognition. A moment of magic. A question. An answer.

He plucked the strings gently, allowing himself to get lost in the music as he always did. As he played, he could imagine in his mind a different girl sat in front of him — one with big brown eyes, and a smile that could light up the room. One with a sharp jaw and soft, round cheeks, the perfect mix of himself and Eurydice.

He played to that little girl, whoever she may be, and to Jessie’s little girl in front of him. He played for Eurydice, deep in the ground, and for any other lover who was being swayed to doubt themselves. This song brought the springtime back — maybe it could do even more than that.

When the song ended, Orpheus and the little girl looked at each other intently for a moment, before she spoke: “Do you miss her?”

Orpheus smiled — it was so easy a question with such a hard answer. Yes, he wanted to shout. I want to see her right now, and go back fifteen years and _not_ turn around. But he spoke gently, choosing his words carefully. “Every minute of every day. I miss her more than I can put into words. But I’ll see her again one day. 

“And sing her your song?”

Orpheus smiled and nodded to her. “And I’ll sing for her like I just sang for you. And if I’m lucky, she’ll remember the melody.”

* * *

“Do you think she’ll be waiting?” Orpheus asked, his voice frail, his eyes dim. Persephone took his hand in hers and ran her cool fingers over his forehead. Even after seventy years, he was still asking about her.

“Yeah, poet,” she said, choking on her words. But despite her want to let tears fall, she smiled. She saw this old man, crows feet at his temple, hair grey and thin, who looked nothing like the young boy she had met years ago. But those eyes, filled with stars and light. She saw this man, his body failing, and she couldn’t help but think of the girl down below, who looked so young everywhere but her eyes. “Yeah, she’ll be waitin’ for you.” 

His breathing was slowing down to an alarming rate, and Persephone squeezed his fingers. He squeezed back with all the energy he had and turned his head slightly. Persephone had watched him grow, watched him age. She watched him mourn Eurydice once, and then again. Had watched him shut the door on the pain, but leave it unlocked. Had watched him try to forget Eurydice, but eventually embrace her. He talked about his wife, 

“Miss Persephone?” he asked, his voice merely breath. Orpheus could barely open his eyes, his strength draining out of him so quickly. They were nearing the end. 

“I’m here, Orpheus,” she said, squeezing the boys hand. “I’m right here.”

Without opening his eyes, he smiled, and using his remaining breath, he whispered to the God. “Thank you,” he said, his voice heavy and weak. “For all of it.”

And lying there in the only home he’d ever known, he drifted off to sleep. Persephone, tears welling in her eyes, smiled softly and leaned down to press a kiss to his brow.

“Goodnight, Poet,” she whispered. “Goodnight.”

The town folk who all loved the poet had come to pay their respects. Persephone recognised some of Orpheus’ old friends, saw their faces in their children. They would know how to give his body the proper farewell. Persephone needed to go meet him.

There was no train waiting — she wouldn’t need it where she was going. She had never been, but knew the way well enough. The platform for the Shades sat just far enough into the tunnel that no true rays of sun could hit it. She walked the track to the platform, and when she entered the small room attached, she gasped.

There he was — the young poet who she remembered so vividly was hunched over in a chair, sleeping softly. His lyre lay next to him as he slept, and Persephone smiled. She could hear the sound of a train in the distance.

She walked over to Orpheus, the man no longer living, and brushed his hair back softly. 

“Hey, Poet,” she said softly, and he blinked awake. His body was changed, but his eyes were the same. He looked up at her and struggled to find words.

“Am I…” he trailed off, not needing to ask the question. 

“Yeah,” she nodded, a strange mix of sadness and contentedness in her voice. “Trains on it’s way now.”

He sat up a little straighter, a look of relief crossed his face when his joints no longer shifted and his bones no longer ached at the quick movement. “When can I see Eurydice? When do I get to see her?”

Before Persephone had the chance to respond, she heard the train again, louder this time, as it pulled up to the platform. She grinned a wicked grin and cupped his cheek for a moment before walking over to the door. “I think that might be her now,” she said with excitement in her voice.

Orpheus sprang up, adjusting his suspenders and smoothing his shirt. “Do you think she’ll recognise me?” he said, not moving from his spot. A look of panic crossed his face as he looked up at the goddess. Persephone gave him a once over before smiling at him with all the sunshine she had. 

“Oh, Poet. She’s gonna fall in love with you all over again.” She opened the door and watched as Orpheus’ eyes widened, watched as he took in the sight of his lost love, come to take him home.

Orpheus had dreamed of this moment for years — of how he would run to her and wrap her in his arms. Of how he would whisper apologies into her skin and kiss her deeply. But now? With Eurydice standing oh so close, looking the same as she did when he last saw her? He could barely move.

He took a tentative step forward, and she mirrored him. _Is this a trick?_ Orpheus remembered asking Hermes once, a long time ago. He thought it again now — is this vision in front of him his love? Or some cruel mockery designed to tear him in half?

She was now close enough that he could see her. She had a new scar on her brow, a quiver to her bottom lip. He remembered how he used to place a finger against her lip to calm her down. He remembered because she used to do the same for him. But now his hands were frozen at his side. 

“It’s you,” he whispered, scared to move, scared that his words would be wrong. It was his action that had doomed them to a lifetime apart, and he would not be the cause of it this time.

“It’s me,” he heard her whisper, and he felt his heart beat for the first time in decades. It pounded against his chest, and he wanted to cup her cheeks, _beg_ her to speak, to say anything. He needed her voice again.

He saw her mouth open, heard her say his name as he said hers, and suddenly she was in his arms. He felt those arms that he had spent years dreaming about wrap around him. He placed his hand on the back of her head, cradling her with one arm as the other pulled her close, his hand on her waist. She pressed her face against his cheek, and he could feel her breath against his tear stained cheek.

He felt her fingers in his hair, and in a moment of panic, he clenched his eyes shut, tightening his grip on her, his breath now unsteady.

“Orpheus,” he heard her say through tears, but he just squeezed his eyes tighter, tears fighting to escape. He felt her shift gently, before he felt two soft lips press gently against his left eye and then his right. He could have melted right there, fallen apart entirely, had he not had her in his arms.

“You can look at me, my love. I’m not going anywhere.” His eyes fluttered open, and _oh._ There she was. His Eurydice, in his arms, and it wasn’t a trick. The skin he felt against his was _hers_. The eyes he was falling into were _hers_ , so filled with love and relief.

“Eurydice, I —“ Orpheus could barely form words, so trying to comprehend that Eurydice was there in front of him. “You waited.”

She reached up to brush aside his tears, a soft laugh filling the space around them. “Of course I did.” 

And with that, she leaned in, pressed her mouth against his, and sealed their fate. He lifted her into his arms, needed to hold her the way he once did, and she smiled against his lips. He felt the world slide into place, shift until everything was upright once again. 

Everything was a blur after that — the train ride down, holding Eurydice in her little Hadestown dormitory as she begged him not to leave. The train onward to their new home where he cried into her neck about how he was so sorry for what he had done to her. It all blended together in flashes of tears, comforting words, and hands on bodies. His heart broke every time he had to let go of Eurydice, but he had faith in Persephone and Hermes — had faith that where they were leading them would be safe.

When they were left in their new home, they stood in the doorway for a long while, maybe hours, maybe days, just holding one another. Eurydice’s tucked against his chest. Orpheus’ head resting on hers. A quiet moment between the two lovers that they had been depraved of for far too long. He pressed kisses into her hair, and she whispered how much she had missed him into his chest.

After all the tricks and trials, all the doubt and fear, it was nice to have somewhere solid to come home to.

* * *

It wasn’t perfect. There were growing pains, and small arguments. There were tears and sleepless nights. Eurydice felt afraid that he would turn away, and Orpheus was scared that she would decide that he wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs. It was their story to rediscover and rewrite. Orpheus and Eurydice; The Poet and his Songbird. The Songbird and her Poet. Their love had driven them across worlds, across realms, and after seventy years, they had been reunited. 

And after seventy years, she was still a blanket hog. 

“Give those back,” he mumbled, his voice raspy and thick, as he reached for the corner of the blankets. Eurydice held them closer to her and shook her head. He rolled his eyes, and kept trying to tug the blankets away from her, which only resulted in a pained whining noise coming from her. 

He chuckled softly and shook his head. He let go of the blankets which garnered a contented hum from his lover, and instead, he reached out and wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her towards him.

He could hear a giggle coming from her as she settled against him, her back against his front, as he untucked the blankets from around her to crawl under. He wrapped an arm around her, and she took hold of his hand, holding it to her chest.

“After all these years and you still take all the blankets,” he murmured into her ear, relaxing into the bed.

“After all these years and you haven’t learned any better,” she responded, smiling but closing her eyes, hoping for a little more rest.

He closed his eyes, too, feeling her chest rise and fall below his hand. Her hair tickled his nose a little as she adjusted herself in his grasp. She held his hand in hers, running her fingers over his calloused fingertips, over his knuckles and palm.

“I thought about your hands a lot,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his thumb, intertwining their fingers. She kept up her soft touches, and he rested his chin on top of her head, watching their hands. “I thought about how they would have looked as you got older.”

He kissed her hair and squeezed her fingers. “I thought a lot about how you’d look,” she said. “About how you would age, and get older. About how I would never get to see it.” 

He wanted to wrap her up tight and tell her that she wasn’t missing anything, that all she had done was avoided a time when his joints didn’t work, and it took twice as much energy to move or play or sing. She missed the winters when he couldn’t get out of bed because his body fought him on every single movement. But they had talked about this — it was okay to miss one another, to be upset that they didn’t get to be there. It didn’t mean that there was any blame being placed.

“I used to imagine how you’d look too. I used to imagine your hair going white,” he said with a little chuckle. She gently elbowed his stomach. “Remember that feather you used to have in your hair? The white against the black? I always imagined that your hair would do that naturally. I never imagined getting to see you again looking the way we do.”

“What did you imagine?” Orpheus, with the one arm still wrapped around her stomach, squeezed her gently. 

“I imagined that, when we met again, I would show up as an old man, with hands that didn’t move properly, and a deeper voice.” Eurydice let go of his hand and turned in his grasp. She faced him, and his hand started to rub circles on her back, as if it was second nature to do so. He could hardly stand not touching her, not grounding himself to her. It would take a long time until Orpheus would be okay with not being this close to his wife. It would take even longer until Eurydice was okay with it.

She smiled and leaned over to press a kiss to his collarbone. “And I would have loved you all the same,” she said. Orpheus tried to find a trace of a lie in her statement, but he couldn’t find one. “I would have held you the same way I did when we were twenty. You forget, my love,” she said, grinning up at him, “that technically I’m still older than you.”

He smiled and tilted her chin up, pulling her in for a long kiss. It was soft, and patient, her lips dancing with his as they allowed themselves to become familiar with their bodies all over again. It had been so long, so long since he had felt this level of _right_. Eurydice wrapped her arm around his shoulders, her hands coming to settle themselves in his hair, as he pulled her on top of him.

She giggled against his lips, before pulling back slightly, and murmuring, “I can’t believe I get to have you again.” She pressed her lips against his once again and he tightened his grip on her. His hands were pressed against her back, keeping her close to him, her weight grounding him into their bed.

If this was the forever he had prayed for, thought Orpheus, than the Gods were kinder than he had imagined. If his forever was this — his lover stealing the blankets in the night, settling his worries when they arose, and kissing him as if no time had passed at all, then he would be happy.

“You’ve got me,” he murmured against her lips, a smile stalling their kiss for a moment. “To the end of time.”

**Author's Note:**

> The entire idea of Persephone and Hermes lying to Orpheus was Jo's (@ratcarney on tumblr) idea. I take zero credit for it. Also most of the dialogue from that was taken directly from our conversation about this idea. Thanks jo for letting me use it here.
> 
> Thanks for the support everyone! I'm slowly working my way through prompts on tumblr, as well as building a brand new AU with jo! Go follow the Dust Bowl AU on tumblr, @askthedustbowl.
> 
> @ivegotaheadlineforyou on tumblr. Come scream with me.


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